Cross 'em Out And Put A 'k Lyrics - Bow Down - Westside Connection

In about four seconds, a gangsta will begin to speak 

Well, it's the mad chickenhawk with the dirty lick style 

And pullin' 211's ever since taa-doow, there's ten million ways to die 

Choosin' Mack and hit the boopin', floosin' 

Off this gang-bang music, so all I'd wanna got the room stumped 

I'm smokin', make dough like Trump 

Cookin' chowder to they chunk, punk 

Straight off dust, nigga trust I bust 

And cross 'em out and put a 'K if they ain't down with us 

It's off the hook, nigga, I'm a Westside crook, nigga 

The forty motherfuckin' dollars on my books, nigga 

I'm not an MC, I'm not a G 

I mean I'm A to fuckin' Z and everything in between 

Rappers like gangbangin' 'cos I'm in it to the fullest 

And my hood ain't never dodgin' bullets 

It's all about the Bloods and Crips, no one tri-ips 

Colors and dips, bitches and chips, nigga 

What's this my friggen low-grader system 

That takes puff B I itches on the premises 

Nigga be dissin' on a down low, so now my motto's 

"Fuck every rapper from the East and the West Coast" 

New School, Old School, I hate you motherfuckers 

I'm steady plottin', cracklin' my ass wit'cha album covers 

Cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Then no Saint days, nigga, then run the fuckin' holidays 

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 

Goddamn nigga, this shit make me sick 

All these West Coast cowards ridin' New York beat 

Busters get sprayed wearin' high-top fades 

And Cango's backwards with dark-ass shades 

No switchblades, nigga, we shoots 

That's how it is on the West when you're true to your roots 

So kill the action, punk, hootchie bitches clown 

Nigga get your sag on and keep your pants legs down 

Check it, ho' shut your mouth and get naked 

I'm Connected and ain't no bitches singin' on this record 

No R and B tracks, just niggas on wax 

Kickin' facts with these gang-bang raps 

Every nigga in the industry wanna rap with me 

Like it's all good, you ain't from my hood 

Nigga, I don't even like your shit, I don't like your form 

I'm true, your through, nigga fuck you 

Nigga get off, this shit is wacked 

Fuck that, I bust you in the can with a motherfuckin' propajack 

Spit on ya, shit on ya when I get on your pissil 

You're goin' up and your fuckin' 'cos I ain't lovin' none of ya 

And even the female rappers are gettin' smacked 

Stabbed in the titties and kicked in the back 

'Cos I'm a Westside Connection hista 

Bored from a lover dishin' nothin' but foolers and dirty rubbers 

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 

In about four seconds, a killa will begin to speak 

Now you can cross out the busters and snitches 

B-Real and Miss Muggs is like Hollywood bitches 

From the niggas I know in the streets I run through 

Swear to God bitch, real it ain't one dog and nobody 

So watch what you say,who ya talkin' 'bout,ya tweakin' 

And keep hogs out'cha mouth when ya bitch ass is speakin' 

I'm sick wit it, cappin' cha dome till I hit it 

This Westside Connection, Cypress know they can't fuck with it 

Use to get kisses and hugs, now I'm servin' ya slugs 

Fuck B-Real and Muggs, y'all niggas ain't no fuckin' thugs 

Be all surprised, everybody dies 

From Columbian neckties covered with fright 

Ya fuckin maggots, ya fuckin' faggots 

I shoulda hurt you, every motherfucker that I know wanna hurt you 

So when I pull my spray-can to spray 

I'm sprayin' C H K all motherfuckin' day 

I once knew this bitch by the name of Q-Tip 

Who claim he had a problem with this gangsta shit 

Behind closed doors, runnin' his mouth like a trick-in 

Till this nigga 'bout the name of Dove caught him slippin' 

Tied his ass up and threw him in the truck 

Put an apple in his mouth and dug his ass out 

I [Incomprehensible] lead him then down his body stashed 

In a trash bag with a cue-cover in his ass 

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 

'Ey, I cross 'em out and put a 'K 

Inglewood, nigga, to South Central L.A. 

Don't go chasin' waterfalls 

Stick to them dicks and balls you're used to 

Punk ass motherfuckers